I actually laughed at that. “Don’t do what? Read? Notice? Finally catch up?”
His eyes dropped to the files. For the first time, I watched fear move through him in real time. It tightened his face from the outside in.
“You went into the safe.”“My father wanted me to.”
He stepped into the room, palms out like I was a frightened animal. “The funeral got out of control. Becca shouldn’t have been there.”
“No,” I said. “She definitely should have been there. It saved me time.”
He flinched.
“I can explain the affair.”
“Can you explain why she was wearing my dress?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and went for a different lie. “I didn’t know she took it.”
I held up a photograph from the PI file—him in a hotel lobby, handing a garment bag to Becca.
He stared at it. “That’s not—”
“Don’t,” I said. My voice came out low and flat. “You are done improvising in this room.”